by Jean M. Auel
'I was going to walk over to the Lanzadonii camp to talk to Dalanar, anyway, Echozar,' Joharran said. 'Why don't you walk back with me? Ayla can go on with Solaban and the others.'
Ayla wondered what was so important that Joharran had to talk to Dalanar about that it couldn't wait until morning. Neither one was going anywhere in the dark. Then she noticed a few of the men who had been sitting around the fireplace move out from behind a bush and head in the direction the others had taken, their heads turning to watch Echozar, Joharran, and a couple of others go. She frowned with concern. Something did not feel right.
'I've never seen such goings on with the zelandonia,' Joharran commented. 'Have you heard anything about the special ceremony everyone says they are planning? Ayla has her mark, but they haven't announced her yet. They usually do it right away. Has she said anything to you?'
'She's been so busy with the zelandonia, I haven't seen much of her,' Jondalar said, which was not entirely true. He had not seen much of her, but not because she was so busy. He was the one who had been staying away and his brother knew it.
'Well, it looks like they must be planning something very big. Zelandoni spent a long time talking with Proleva, and she told me the zelandonia want a huge, elaborate feast. They are even talking to Laramar about supplying his brew for the festival. We're getting together a hunting party, probably be gone a day or two. Do you want to join us?' Joharran asked.
'Yes,' Jondalar answered, almost too quickly, causing his brother to give him a questioning look, 'I'd be glad to.'
If he'd been thinking straight, Jondalar might have recalled that Ayla had said something to him when he first saw her, but he hadn't been able to think of anything but Ayla finding him with Marona since the incident. He just couldn't bring himself to simply crawl into the sleeping furs beside her under the circumstances. He didn't even know if she would let him. He was certain he had lost her, but was afraid to find out for sure.
He thought he had managed to find a plausible excuse for not returning to their camp another night, when Proleva asked him about it. He had actually slept near the horse enclosure, using horse blankets, and the ground covering he and Marona had used at the swimming place, for bedding to keep warm, but he didn't think he could continue staying away without arousing curiosity from the whole camp. Being away on a hunting trip would solve the problem for the next day or two. He didn't even want to think beyond that.
Though Ayla was trying to behave as if nothing were wrong, and Jondalar thought his avoidance of her went unnoticed, in fact the whole camp was aware by now that something was wrong between the couple, and many guessed what it was. His clandestine trysts with Marona were not nearly so secret as he had thought. To most people, he was just being appropriately discreet and they ignored the affair. But the news that the formerly doting couple had not even shared the same bed since Ayla arrived, even though Marona had moved to a different camp, had spread quickly.
It was the kind of gossip people loved to speculate about. The fact that Ayla had been marked as a Zelandoni without being immediately announced, and that plans for a major ceremony were underway, only added to the delicious innuendos. People were guessing that the event had something to do with the newest Zelandoni, but no one seemed to know anything for sure. Usually one or another of the zelandonia would let something slip to an interested questioner, but this time none of them was talking. Some people were suggesting that even the Acolytes didn't know the real reason for the big festival, though they all tried to act as if they did.
Jondalar was hardly aware that a celebration was being planned, and until Joharran had asked him to join the hunting party, he didn't care. Then it only became an excuse to get away for a while. He had seen Marona a few times. When she heard the rumours about the estrangement of Ayla and Jondalar, she had made a point of seeking him out, but he had lost all interest in her. He was little more than coldly polite when she spoke to him, but she was not the only one who tried to find out how serious their breach was. Brukeval also came to the camp of the Ninth Cave.
Though he had travelled to the Summer Meeting with the Ninth Cave, Brukeval had long since moved away to sleep in the men's summer lodges, the 'far lodges' that were constructed around the periphery of the Summer Meeting Camp — commonly shortened to fa'lodges. Some were used by young men recently elevated to manhood status, some by older men who were not yet mated or were between mates, or men who wished they were. Brukeval had never mated. He'd always had a secret fear of being refused, and had never asked anyone. Besides, none of the available women seemed all that interesting to him. Since he had no immediate family or children, he felt out of place at the main camp, and even around the more frequently used areas of the Ninth Cave. As the years went by and most of the men his age took mates, he avoided ordinary activities and familiar people more and more, and by default often ended up with the idlers who attached themselves to Laramar to partake of the brew he made, frequently imbibing of it himself for the forgetfulness it induced.
Brukeval had tried a few different men's tents at the Summer Meeting, but finally settled in the one that housed many of the men he knew from the Ninth Cave who enjoyed easy access to Laramar's brew. Laramar himself slept there most of the time rather than returning to the tent of his mate and her children. The children weren't very welcoming lately, especially since Lanoga mated that boy with the feeble arm. She'd grown up to be pretty enough, Laramar thought; she could have got a better man, though he'd heard the boy could hunt. Madroman often chose that men's tent as well, rather than the large dwelling of patronising zelandonia, where he was still only an Acolyte, even though he told everyone that he had been called.
Brukeval didn't much like the men he chose to live with, a shiftless bunch who had little to offer and even less respect. He knew he was brighter and more capable than most of them. He was related to the families of those who often became leaders and he had grown up with people who were responsible, intelligent, and often talented. The men with whom he shared a fa'lodge were essentially lazy, weak willed, or slow, with no generosity of spirit or heart and few other redeeming qualities.
As a result, in an effort to bolster their own self-worth and as an outlet for their frustrations, they fed each other's vanity and conceit with bragging contempt for something they could feel superior to: those dirty, stupid animals called Flatheads. They told each other that while they were not human, they could be tricky. Because Flatheads bore a vague resemblance to real people, they were sometimes clever enough to confuse the spirits that made a woman pregnant so that she gave birth to an abomination, and that was intolerable. For reasons of his own, the one thing Brukeval had in common with the men with whom he shared living space was a deep and abiding hatred for Flatheads.
Some of the men were brutal bullies, and in the beginning one or two had actually tried to bait and tease him about having a Flathead mother, but after he had demonstrated his irrational anger and powerful strength a few times, none dared to bother him again, and most came to treat him with more respect than anyone else who shared their fa'lodge. Besides, he did have some influence with the Cave leaders since he knew many of them, and had spoken up for one or another of the men who had got himself in deeper than usual trouble. Many of the men began to look to him as a leader of sorts. So did some of the Caves. They felt that he could be a restraining influence, and by the middle of the summer, if any of the men who lived there were being especially troublesome, Brukeval was the one people went to.
When he appeared at the main camp of the Ninth Cave, ostensibly to share a midday meal and visit with the people of his Cave, it caused some conjecture. Ayla had gone early. She was deeply involved with the activities of the zelandonia, and had taken Jonayla to stay with Levela along the way. In fact, most of the women were gone. With her usual organising flair, Proleva had gathered up everyone she could find, assigning jobs here and delegating there, to begin the preparations for a great feast that would feed the entire Summer Meeting. The
only women at the camp were the ones going on the hunt.
Proleva had left behind some food for the midday meal of the hunters who were gathering at the camp of the Ninth Cave. The hunting party would have to fend for themselves on the trail. Most of them had packed dried travelling food along with their equipment, tents, and sleeping rolls, though they did expect to eat fresh food they killed or collected most of the time.
Since he was there and was known to be a more than adequate hunter, Joharran invited him along on the hunt. Brukeval hesitated only a moment. He wondered about the situation between Ayla and Jondalar, and thought that perhaps during the camaraderie of a hunt, he might be able to find out.
Brukeval had never forgotten the way Ayla had faced them all down when Marona had tricked her into wearing entirely inappropriate clothing to her own welcoming party — now all the women were wearing similar outfits, he'd noticed. He remembered how warm she had been to him when they first met, the way she smiled, almost as though she knew him, with none of the hesitation or reservation most women showed. And he dreamed of her in her beautiful and unusual Matrimonial clothing, often seeing himself removing them, and after all these years, he still daydreamed about what it would be like if he were Jondalar lying beside her on soft furs.
Ayla had always been pleasant to him, but after that first night, he sensed a feeling of distance from her that was different from that first welcome. Brukeval had withdrawn more into himself as the years had gone by, but without their being aware of it, he knew a great deal about Jondalar and Ayla's life together, even intimate details. Among other things, he knew that Jondalar had been coupling with Marona — of all people — for some time. He also knew that Ayla never joined with anyone else, not even at Mother Festivals, and that she did not know about Jondalar and Marona.
Brukeval returned to the fa'lodge for his hunting gear, and by the time he got back to the Ninth Cave's camp, he was actually looking forward to the hunt. He hadn't really been included in one since he took up residence with the men he currently shared sleeping space with. As a rule, most hunting party leaders didn't bother asking the men from that tent to join them, and they seldom organised their own hunts, except for Brukeval, who had often gone off alone over the years and had learned to hunt or forage enough for himself when he wanted to.
The other men usually cadged something to eat from one Cave or another, often returning to the camps of their own Caves. Madroman had no concern about meals. He usually ate with the zelandonia, who were customarily supplied quite well by the Caves, usually in exchange for general services, but also for specific requests. Laramar also had his own resources. He traded his brew, and found no lack of willing consumers.
It was not uncommon for the youngest men staying in their own shelters to get food or a meal from one camp or another, although they usually tried to make some contribution in return, such as hunting or joining in other community work or food gathering activities. And though it was not unusual for the men who had recently reached manhood to create a few problems now and then, it was generally ascribed to 'high spirits' and tolerated, especially by older men recalling their own youth. If, however, they caused too much trouble, it could bring a visit from Cave leaders, who had the authority to impose penalties, including, at the worst, banishment from the Summer Meeting camp.
Everyone knew that the men of Brukeval's fa'lodge — as people had started referring to the place — were not young, and they could seldom be found when there was work to do. But there was never a lack of food at Summer Meetings, and no one who showed up when it was time to eat was ever turned away, no matter how unwelcome. The men of that place were generally smart enough not to appear at the same camp too often. And they usually spread out so that all of them did not end up at one place at the same time, unless they learned of a rather lavish feast, as when one or more camps would have a large communal meal. But with their often loud parties, sometimes violent fights, slovenly ways, and unwillingness to contribute, that particular men's group skirted the very edge of tolerance.
But that tent was the only place where Brukeval could drown out his secret guilt and pain with Laramar's brew. In a drunken stupor, with his conscious mind no longer in control, then he was free to think of Ayla the way he wanted. He could think of the way she looked when she proudly faced down the laughter of the Ninth Cave, think of her smiling at him with her beautiful smile, laughing and a little tipsy, flirting with him, talking to him as if she thought he was an ordinary man, even a charming, handsome man, not ugly and short. People called him a Flathead, but it wasn't true, it wasn't. I am not a Flathead, he thought. It's only because I am short and … ugly.
Hidden in the dark, full of potent drink, he could dream of Ayla in her spectacular, exotic tunic with her beautiful golden hair falling around her face and the amber jewel nestled between her high, firm bare breasts. He could dream of holding those breasts, of touching those nipples, of taking them in his mouth. Just the thought would bring him to erection, and filled with his need, he barely had to touch himself to make his essence spurt.
Then he could crawl into his empty bed, and dream that he was the one who had stood in front of Zelandoni with Ayla at his side, not his cousin, the tall man with the yellow hair and vivid blue eyes, not that perfect man every woman wanted. But Brukeval knew he wasn't so perfect. Jondalar had been coupling with Marona, not telling Ayla, trying to hide it from everyone. He had guilty secrets, too, and now Ayla was sleeping alone. Jondalar had been sleeping outside in the horse place, using their riding blankets. Had Ayla stopped loving Jondalar? Had she found out about Marona and stopped loving that man who was everything Brukeval had ever wanted to be? The man who was mated to the woman he loved more than life itself? Did she need someone to love her now?
Even if she stopped loving Jondalar, he knew it wasn't likely that she would choose him, but she had smiled at him again, and didn't seem as distant. And with the arrival of Dalanar and the Lanzadonii, he was reminded that some beautiful women did choose men who were ugly. He was not a Flathead, and he hated to think of himself as having any similarity, but he was aware that Echozar, that ugly abomination of a man who was born of mixed spirits, whose mother was a Flathead, had mated the daughter of Dalanar's second woman, the one most people thought was so exotically beautiful. So it was possible. He tried not to get his hopes up, but if Ayla ever needed someone, someone who would never couple with anyone else, never, not as long as he lived, who would never love anyone else as long as he lived, he could be that man.
Chapter 36
'Mother! Mother! 'Thona is here! Grandam finally came!' Jonayla cried, running into their lodge to announce the news, and then running out again. Wolf followed her in and out again.
Ayla stopped to think about how many days it had been since she had asked to have someone go for Marthona. She touched a finger to her leg as she thought about each day, and could count only four. Marthona must have been eager to come, as Ayla knew she would be, if a way could be found to get her here. She stepped out of the lodge just as four young men of approximately the same height lowered the stretcher on which Marthona was sitting from their shoulders to the ground. Two of them were Jondalar's apprentices; the other two were friends who happened to be nearby when the request for litter bearers was made.
Ayla looked at the contrivance upon which Marthona had been carried to the Summer Meeting. It consisted of two poles from straight young older trees, placed parallel to each other with strong rope woven across them diagonally, creating a diamond pattern. Shorter shafts were woven through the ropes at intervals between the long poles to give some added stability. Ayla was sure that Marthona, who was an experienced weaver, had a hand in making it. The woman sat on a couple of cushions near the back and Ayla reached out a hand to help her stand up. Marthona thanked the young men as well as several others, who apparently had traded off the job of carrying the former leader.
They had spent the night before in the small valley of the Fifth Cave with the few
people from that group who had stayed back from the meeting, along with one of their Zelandoni's Acolytes. They were all quite interested in Marthona's mode of transport. A couple of them wondered to themselves if they could find some young men who might be willing to carry them to a Summer Meeting. Most of them would have liked to attend; they all felt they were missing out when they had to stay back because they were not able to walk the distance on their own legs.
When Jondalar's apprentices brought the stretcher into the lodge, it occurred to Ayla that their services might still be needed. 'Hartalan, would you and Zachadal, and maybe some of the others be willing to carry Marthona around the camp, if she needs you? The walk from here to the zelandonia lodge and some of the other camps might be a little too far for her,' Ayla said.
'Just let us know when you need us,' Hartalan said. 'It might be best if you could tell us in advance, but there is likely to be at least one of us around most of the time. I'll talk to some of the others and see if we can work out a way to make sure someone is here who can go and get more to help.'
'That's very kind of you,' Marthona said. She had heard Ayla's request as she walked in the entrance, 'but I don't want to keep you from your own activities.'
'There isn't that much to do anymore,' Hartalan said. 'Some people are planning to go hunting, or visiting relatives, or back home soon. Most of the ceremonies and feasts are over, except for the Late Matrimonial and whatever big event the zelandonia are preparing now, and no one seems able to find Jondalar lately, but he always does more training in the winter anyway. It's fun to carry you around, Marthona,' Hartalan said, with a grin. 'You can't believe how much attention we got just walking into camp with you.'
